


Threads on the Loom

by DownToTheSea



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-05-09 10:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownToTheSea/pseuds/DownToTheSea
Summary: When catastrophe strikes in the city of the gods, throwing Lucy's world upside down, she sets out in search of a way to fix things. Along the way, she turns for help to someone who's already tried to change their destiny once. But as their journey continues and their connection deepens, Lucy begins to question what she's always known about her duty to ensure fate plays out the way it's supposed to.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally for a Tumblr prompt - Lucy and Flynn in a fairy tale or mythology AU. But ideas for this spiraled wildly out of my control haha, so I decided to turn it into a multi-chapter. Based on Greek mythology, though I had to play with it quite a bit to make it fit with Timeless.

There were never any chilly days in the city of the gods. Or cloudy days or rainy days, for that matter; the sun was always shining, it was always warm and bright and idyllic, and although she never voiced this, Lucy sometimes found it kind of boring.

However, there was one thing she truly loved about her home: whenever she went up to the tallest towers and stood overlooking the world of mortal men, a breeze would flow by, its fingers caressing her cheeks, voice a low whisper in her ears. The warm south wind, the gentle west wind, the fierce east wind… With all their differing personalities, they were her friends, and brought her news of the world into which she only occasionally descended.

Lucy was the guardian of mortals’ destinies; she recorded and studied what came before, and she could see the flow of time, if they were still on their fated paths or if something had interfered. Sometimes this happened by accident, in which case it was easy enough to step in and set right, but sometimes a particularly enterprising human would attempt to reshape their own fate. That was a lot more complicated.

Trying to reweave the loom of the Fates was tampering with the fabric of reality on the most dangerous level. It could only ever end in catastrophe. Lucy had been taught that since birth, and she believed it. Fate might not have been perfect, but it was what they had, and any disruption seemed to Lucy like being set adrift without a compass in a raging storm.

There weren’t many who attempted it, but it did happen: sometimes they tried to sneak into the city itself, to cut or change or extend a thread on the loom, or sometimes they harnessed powerful magic from their world.

Of course, sometimes mortals tried to change their lives in ways even Lucy couldn’t see coming.

It was the north wind that brought it to her attention that evening as she stood up on her tower, her hair whipping around her face. (Lucy would never say so, but she loved that wind best: it brought chaos and change, but it lit up a spark deep inside her that nothing else ever could.)

It murmured to her and she turned her attention where it directed, her curiosity piqued.

The sun was setting, casting its last light on the world beneath and tinting everything in a reddish glow. Along the same spur of mountains their city rested upon, much further down and closer to the mortal world, was a tiny, dark tunnel. Most people’s eyes slid right over it if their gaze was drawn to it it at all, but even those few who could see it would only shudder and turn away, with the instinctive (and accurate) assessment that it wasn’t a place they wanted to go.

Lucy knew that it led to the underworld, a twisting, pitch-black path that emerged into the land of the dead. She had had the unfortunate privilege of visiting a few times, and if it was up to her, she would be content to never do so again.

But there was one sight she’d never expected in that desolate place: someone coming  _ out  _ of the tunnel. Her eyes widened, focusing closer on the scene.

A man stumbled out into the dying sunlight, catching himself on an outcropping of rock just outside. He was tall, and though he had the unmistakable pallor of someone who had recently been in the realm of the dead, he was undoubtedly alive, his face suffused with bright, overwhelming hope.

With a triumphant grin, he turned and looked behind him. Lucy could just dimly make out two shadowy shapes, clinging to each other, on the verge of stepping out into the light. They were only an arm's length away from the man, but even as they reached for each other, the figures melted away like mist burning off in the sun. His fingers closed on thin air.

Lucy was far away, but she could see the instant he broke as clearly as if she'd been standing next to him, hear his scream of agony and rage. He launched himself back into the tunnel, clawing at the rocks as if he could rip them away to get back whatever he had lost.

But it was a fruitless endeavor. There were invisible barriers protecting it from any living person entering by accident. Lucy couldn’t fathom how he’d gotten in to begin with, but there was no way he could get back in now, no matter how hard he tried.

He spent hours at the tunnel’s entrance anyway. The sun set and the stars began to glimmer overhead, but there he stayed. Even after his strength gave out and he collapsed to his knees, one hand still pounded feebly on the ground, his shoulders shuddering with sobs he'd long ago run out of tears for.

At last, he crawled back out and onto the grass, where he lay utterly still. For a minute Lucy wasn't sure if he was even alive. Then she caught a glimpse of movement in his trembling hands, bloodied from where he’d been tearing at the stone. He was alive, but defeated.

Lucy's eyes had remained fixed on him in mingled horror and sympathy, unable to look away. She wasn't really supposed to get involved in mortal affairs (not that that ever stopped any of her fellow gods, and Lucy had bent the rules more than once herself for a good cause) but her heart had gone out to him. She was debating whether or not to look back along his timeline, see what had happened and if there was any comfort she could offer, when her attention was drawn away by a voice calling her name.

It was Rufus, but Lucy’s warm greeting quickly faded when she saw him. The expression on his face made her pulse quicken, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“What is it?” she asked.

He ran up to her, breathing hard, and she thought she saw the faint shine of tears on his cheeks. He swallowed before speaking.

“Lucy, it’s – it's your sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have more Garcy! I just wanted to get the first part up, since I'm a bit shy about posting this haha. Hope you enjoyed!


	2. A Changing Wind

**_Two years later_ **

At the sound of a branch snapping behind him, Flynn froze in his tracks, reaching for his sword. It was about the hundredth branch to have done so in the last couple hours, and each time he reacted this way. But it was best to be safe. If there was anything the last few years had taught him, it was that enemies could be lurking anywhere.

Another few moments in the dark, still as a stone and keeping his breathing as quiet as possible, assured him that this wasn't one of those times. He resumed walking, taking a deep breath of charred air. There had been a fire in this forest not too long ago, leaving burn scars all along the trees and making the underbrush little more than a pile of ash.

It wasn't a vacation spot, that was certain. But he'd been warned away by the nearby village residents for more reasons than the unattractive scenery. “Monsters” was apparently their favorite word.

Flynn didn't give a damn. Whatever was in here, it couldn't be any worse than what he'd already seen. His target was waiting on the other side of the woods, and he couldn't afford the delay of going around.

Another sound, a soft whistling of air being displaced, passed over him in the branches. Frowning, he looked up, but there was nothing there.

He quickened his steps anyway, an uneasy feeling settling onto his shoulders. Monsters or no, there was something off about this place. The sooner he was out and on his way, the better, on all counts. This was the best lead he'd had in weeks.

A strong wind had kicked up, strong enough that he could feel it even deep in the forest. It howled over the branches and spiraled down through them, bringing a sudden chill with it. His hair ruffled around his temples.

Flynn looked up at the sky, the uneasy feeling growing stronger. What he could see of it was troubled, coal-black clouds swirling overhead and blocking out the stars. There was a tang on the air. From the look of things, a serious storm was brewing.

Of course, three hours ago when he'd entered the wood, there hadn't been a cloud in the sky. Not worrisome at  _ all,  _ he thought with a grimace.

It was only a few minutes later that the storm arrived, rain pelting him through the branches. He was drenched within seconds.

At least now there was an occasional flash of lightning to navigate by. Silver linings, Flynn thought darkly.

He trudged onward, the rain turning the ashy dirt beneath him into mud. Thunder boomed occasionally overhead. An especially powerful gust of wind swept through the trees, throwing him off balance. Flynn stumbled forward, catching himself on a nearby branch. Another one followed, nearly gale-force.

It brought with it a foul, putrid stench that made him gag. Only a moment later, over the crashing thunder, he heard a heavy beating of wings sweeping towards him. He looked up.

Half a dozen harpies had descended into the forest, gliding towards him with deadly speed. Their talons shone long and cruel, and their faces were pale against the blackness.

Without hesitation, Flynn turned and ran. He wasn't some idiotic hero of legend type. He knew what he was capable of and what he wasn't, and this was beyond him. At least until he got to better terrain. If he could take them on just one or two at a time and keep them grounded, he might stand a chance.

In some corner of his mind, he remembered hearing that they were sometimes sent by the gods to deal out punishment. If that was why they were after him, well, Flynn wouldn't deny he deserved it more than most. But anger flared in him at the idea that the gods were only taking notice of him  _ now.  _ Now, when they could have prevented all this from happening, all the misery and death, with only the barest effort.

He never could have outrun harpies in flight under most circumstances, but the forest was working in his favor; they couldn't reach full speed while swerving around the trees. Even so, they were catching up fast.

Squinting through the rain, his feet pounding against the wet ground, Flynn spied a closely packed grove just ahead of him. He might be able to use it as cover, or at the very least get his back to it. He angled over, making a run for it.

He dived in, barely scraping between two trees, just as the lead harpy caught up with him. Her talons whistled through the air where he'd just been. Rolling to his knees, Flynn turned and looked behind him.

They couldn't follow him in, but he couldn't stay here forever either. The harpies whirled around the grove, expressing their displeasure in the form of harsh cries that blended with the noises of the storm.

Flynn stayed there for a few minutes, watching their movements and taking in deep breaths. One of them swooped a little too close. Sliding a short knife into his hand, Flynn waited another second before hurtling it through the air. It struck the harpy dead-on, burying itself in her throat, and she tumbled to the ground.

A cacophony of screeching went up from the rest of them, the speed and fury of their wingbeats increasing. They wouldn't be making that mistake again.

One against five. And the five could fly. Flynn swallowed, his hand curling and uncurling. He'd been up against worse odds, right?

He had to make it out of this forest so he could finish this mission, so he could finish  _ the  _ mission. Anything else was unthinkable. Let the gods send whatever they wanted after him. Flynn had already walked into hell for the people he loved; what were a few harpies compared to that?

He closed his eyes, and thought of his girls, and counted to three. Then his eyes opened and he rolled out from the grove.

They dived on him in a whirlwind of wings and talons. So much for taking them on one at a time, he thought dryly, and then he didn't have any more time for thinking.

Flynn landed a lucky blow right away, piercing one through the torso as it flew at him. He dropped one hand from his sword as he pulled it back, flinging another knife in the general direction of the others. Judging from the noise, it struck a target, but none of them went down.

He went for the grove again, intending to do this all night if he had to, but this time they were too close. Two sets of claws raked across his left side, seizing his arm and dragging him back. Flynn struggled, but their grip was like iron, biting into his skin. Blood ran down his arm.

The other two had positioned themselves on his other side, preparing to catch his other arm. As one approached, he swung out with the sword still in his hand, slashing it across the wing.

She flew at him again, infuriated. Dodging his attacks, she sank her claws into his right arm, squeezing with inhuman strength. Another knocked his sword out of his hand, and it fell with a dull thud to the soft ground.

Fighting every instinct he had, Flynn let his arm go limp, dropping it close to the creature's body, letting another knife slip into his hand. Quickly, he wrenched it around and stabbed behind him.

Another shriek, and his right side was suddenly free. Flynn threw himself forward with all his strength.

It wasn't enough. The last harpy swooped down to take her sister's place. With a sound like thunder, they beat their wings together and lifted him off the ground.

Flynn kicked wildly as his feet left the ground and he ascended towards the canopy of leaves, knowing it would do him little good but unwilling to go without a fight anyway. Then, by some miracle, his foot caught in a gnarled old tree, wedging into a knot caused by two of its branches that had twisted around one another.

The harpies pulled him upward with a jerk. Pain shot through his leg, but he held on for dear life. He was beginning to think they would just tear him apart and be done with it, until they unexpectedly let go of him.

For a moment he felt oddly weightless; then the world dropped out from under him and he fell backwards. He was jerked to a halt only a second later, his leg still caught in the tree and now screaming in protest at bearing his entire weight.

The back of his head struck the tree trunk hard, then, mercifully, everything stopped moving for a second. He hung upside down, blinking away the disorientation from the fall and the blow to his head.

Then, with a fierce cry, all three harpies dived at him.

To his surprise, no claws lodged in him this time. Their target was higher up. With a rustling creak, the branches holding him up snapped off the ancient tree.

Flynn didn't even have time to swear before he went tumbling through the air once more. He managed to twist over in midair as he fell, so that his shoulder and side took most of the impact when he hit the ground. Another miracle: he didn't think anything had broken, but the wind was thoroughly knocked out of him.

All he could manage as the harpies wheeled above was to lay on the ground clutching his bruised ribs and wheezing for breath. He reached for his last knife, but it was gone; it must have fallen away while he was in the air. Then all that was left to do was curl his arms over his head when they came at him again with their claws and hooked beaks, trying to shield himself from the worst of their attacks.

With agonizing slowness, Flynn started dragging himself towards the grove again, one tiny nudge at a time. If they didn't notice what he was doing, he had a chance to get to his sword, to crawl into the grove for shelter. It was his only chance.

Their claws bit deep into his chest, scraping along his neck, and he muffled a cry. He focused on getting across the ground. He was only a little ways away from the grove now. Another few minutes, he could endure that…

Then one of them caught hold of his leg and pulled him back, further than where he'd started. He imagined he could hear a cruel kind of laughter in their cawing now.

They had seen what he was up to. It was pointless to try again, but Flynn did anyway, rolling to his stomach and trying to crawl back. Another grabbed his leg, and yanked him away.

This seemed to go on forever, never gaining ground and always losing it, increasingly battered by their blows. As his movements grew more sluggish, they must have grown tired of this game; they flanked him again, catching hold of his arms. Back to their original business, then.

Flynn was on the brink of passing out by that point. He still struggled feebly against them, but the battle was lost. His eyes closed, and he clung to the memory of his family as the harpies prepared to lift him once more.  _ I'm sorry,  _ he thought.  _ I'm sorry. I'm sorry. _

He could feel himself sinking into blissful oblivion, and he almost would have welcomed it, if it hadn't meant that he had failed in his mission. But before he lost consciousness completely, he heard somehow over the chaos of the storm and the harpies, the clear, distinct sound of someone snapping their fingers.

A pulse shot through the woods. Everything went dead silent. The harpies stopped tugging him upward.

Cautiously, Flynn opened his eyes. They were frozen above him as if they'd been turned to stone, their wings locked mid-beat. The rain has stopped.

No, it hadn't, Flynn realized. The rain was frozen too, the silvery drops suspended in midair. Above him, a river of brilliant blue lightning hung across the sky, illuminating the ground in a wash of pale light.

From off to his side, a little deeper in the forest, he heard footsteps. He turned his head.

Slowly, a figure emerged, walking towards him as if they had all the time in the world. With another glance upward at the harpies, Flynn thought that maybe they did. Wincing, he managed to pull his arms free. Whoever the newcomer was, it seemed best to meet them in slightly more ideal circumstances.

He looked over again, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was a woman. She looked to be a little younger than he was, but given what she had just done, Flynn wouldn't have been surprised to learn that the very opposite was true. And she was  _ beautiful. _

Guilt was his first and strongest response to that realization, but as much as he wanted to he couldn't stop staring. There was a light in her eyes that seemed to pierce right into his soul. Flynn shivered; yet somehow, it warmed him at the same time.

There was no possible way she was entirely mortal. A goddess, or demi-goddess at the very least. His heart pounded in his chest. Had  _ she  _ sent the harpies? If so, why save him when they were just about to complete their task?

He wasn't quite sure what he expected when she opened her mouth. His experience of gods and goddesses was limited, and not something he cared to relive. A thousand voices at once, perhaps, or something like what he imagined a siren song would sound like, beautiful and powerful and utterly spellbinding.

She advanced until she stood just a few feet away. Then…

“Hi,” she said, raising her hand and giving him a little wave.

Flynn stared.

“You're Garcia Flynn.”

It wasn't a question, but he nodded anyway, still speechless.

She smiled a little, sad and hopeful at the same time.

“It's time we talked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From what I can tell harpies were originally just storm/wind spirits before later accounts have them turning into what we're more familiar with. But I thought the original was cool, so I just sort of blended them haha.


	3. An Alliance Is Formed

Flynn found his voice with difficulty. “Talked,” he repeated hoarsely. “Talked about what?”

Now that the immediate danger was over, his body was taking the opportunity to announce that it strongly protested what he'd just put it through. His head pounded like a herd of wild animals was running over it, and the various slashes, bruises, and worse covering him were beginning to throb.

She knelt next to him, looking him in the eyes. The unearthly light had faded, leaving them a warm and disconcertingly human brown. “Rittenhouse,” she said simply.

His heart was just beginning to slow down from the recent adrenaline rush, but that sent it back into frenetic double time. His eyes widened. “How do you know that name?” he hissed.

“I know a lot of things. I know that they killed your family, and that you've been trying to take them down ever since. I know what you've done, where you've gone, to get your wife and daughter back.”

Her voice was soft. Flynn felt his eyes burning, tears welling in the corners, and he didn't know if it was from the pain, or the memories her words conjured, or just because it had been so very long since anyone had treated him with any degree of kindness. He blinked them away.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

“You can call me Lucy.”

“That's not what I meant.” Then, remembering that she had in fact saved his life, and in gratitude for the way she'd spoken to him just now, he cleared his throat and tacked on, “Lucy,” as a sort of stiff apology.

“I'll tell you as much as I can, but first let get you someplace safe and those wounds taken care of.”

She reached for his arm, but he flinched away, shaking his head and ignoring the flash of pain it brought.

“Answers first,” he demanded.  _ Rittenhouse.  _ Everyone else he had found who knew that name was dead now. It wasn't one that got tossed around lightly. And what did it have to do with  _ her? _

Sitting back on her heels, she regarded him. The utter insanity of trying to argue with a goddess occurred to Flynn at that point, along with a few unpleasant reminders of what had happened to those foolish enough to try. Still, she looked more annoyed than angry, so he was fairly sure she wasn't going to smite him or something. He held his ground, jaw tightening.

Sighing, she got to her feet and offered him a hand up. “Answers on the way. Deal?”

He looked at her hand for a moment, hovering in the air between them. The air that was still filled with raindrops that weren't falling. Not exactly a subtle reminder of what she could do. It was probably mere courtesy that she was pretending like he had another option.

At last, Flynn nodded. (This set off another stampede in his head and he quickly regretted it.) “Deal,” he said, and took her hand.

Lucy helped him to his feet, carefully maneuvering him in between the grasping claws of the harpies. Raindrops collapsed against his face in mid-air when he moved through them.

It was one of the strangest sensations he'd ever had. Not that he had much time to appreciate it, since a wave of dizziness and nausea hit him as soon as he was standing. His head swam, Lucy’s face separating into a multitude of blurry ones. He blinked at her, staggering in the direction of the nearest tree with the vague idea of steadying himself on it, before he toppled over.

Everything went black for a couple of seconds. When he opened his eyes, he was on the muddy ground once more, staring up at the unnaturally still lightning. His head now felt as though a small army had taken up residence in it and was running drills.

His new divine acquaintance was on her knees again next to him, looking a great deal more worried than made sense. What interest could she possibly have in him, anyway?

“Can you walk?” she asked.

Flynn cracked a hollow smile. “Don't you have a chariot or something for that?”

“No chariots here, sorry.” There was the barest hint of an answering smile on her face.

“Then I can try.” He began to attempt just that, but she pushed him back down.

“Hold on,” she said. “You, um, don't look so good.” Flynn was willing to put money on that being an understatement.

“Maybe you should just stay there for a minute. Here.” She reached into her cloak and pulled out a small vial. “Drink some of this.”

Flynn eyed it suspiciously, and she exhaled.

“Think about it: if I wanted you dead, why didn't I just leave you to those harpies?”

“Why didn't you?” Flynn fired back, but he had to admit she had a point, so when she slid a hand under his head, lifted it, and put the vial to his lips, he didn't recoil this time. Whatever was inside was warm and overpoweringly sweet; it made him dizzy all over again.

“Just a sip!” she said, hastily jerking it away.

Flynn coughed and gagged a little, wondering if she'd dosed him with some kind of divine concoction that would make an unlucky mortal like himself explode into gory chunks. His head fell back, a sort of golden haze spreading over his vision. But it cleared in just a few seconds, and he was surprised to find that he really did feel better. The throbs had subsided to a dull ache, his head was no longer spinning, and when he held his hand up he saw one of the slashes close up right before his eyes.

All that escaped his mouth was a faint, impressed-sounding wheeze.

“Are you  _ sure  _ you can walk?” Lucy asked doubtfully as he struggled to his feet. In a heartening sign, he didn't immediately fall over again.

Inclining his head, Flynn waved off down the path. “Lead on.”

He cast one last look at the frozen harpies, still clutching at thin air underneath the branches, before he followed her into the darkness. “What about them?” he asked, jerking his head back behind them.

“Oh,” Lucy said. “I'll wait until we've put some distance between us, and then I'll let them go.”

Flynn glanced over at her, tilting his head down. “If they were sent after me, they're going to keep looking.”

_ “If,”  _ she said. “You might have just been a victim of poor luck.”

Flynn snorted rather grimly. He wouldn't argue that one, at least.

“And they may not be eager to deal with you again, after you killed half of them. Besides, you're with me now.”

“I am,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “And we are on our way. I believe you mentioned something about answers at this point?”

“Ask away.”

“What do you know about Rittenhouse?” burst out of him, his voice cracking in the silent woods.

“Not much more than you do.” She glanced at him. “I'm sorry. I know you were probably expecting someone like me to have all the answers, but…”

“I wasn't expecting anything from you.”

She flinched slightly at the dark bitterness of his tone, but he refused to take it back.

“All of you up on your glorious mountain, you did  _ nothing  _ when Rittenhouse murdered my entire family, my wife, my  _ daughter…”  _ His voice broke again and he stopped walking, turning to glare at her, the old aching fire in his chest stoked once more.

“I'm sorry,” she said again, and the worst part was that she sounded like she meant it. “I'm so sorry.”

“And you’re getting involved now – why? To assuage your guilt? A little late for that. Or is it for your own – ”

“It's not too late.” Sharp and clear, the words cut through his anger and fell on Flynn like a thunderclap.

“What?” He barely heard his own voice, sounding hollow and distant, as if it was coming from someone else a long way away.

“It's not too late,” she repeated, and looked up at him with fierce determination. “I can save your family.”

 

For a minute, Lucy was afraid he was going to pass out again. He'd stopped breathing, she was sure of that, and was staring at her with a whirlwind of emotions in his eyes: grief, pain, anger, but buried underneath them all, the tiniest spark of hope.

“How?” he asked, nothing more than a ragged whisper.

“You tried to get them out before without anyone knowing,” Lucy said in a rush. “That was your mistake. Souls can't leave the underworld without permission.” She swallowed. “I can get you that permission.”

Flynn shook his head, looking dazed. “How, how can you do that? You're not – ”

“No. It's not my realm. But I can get them out.”

_ “How?”  _ His hands were clenched together at his sides, knuckles white, trembling with strain.

“I know the ruler of the dead,” she told him, her lips twisting into a faintly bitter smile. “Very well. Trust me, I know how to make your case.”

Flynn took in a shuddering breath. “Why?” he asked. “Why would you do that for me?”

“Because I need your help.” She lifted her chin slightly. “To save my sister.”

That clearly hadn't been the answer he had expected. He looked rather stunned. Lucy wasn't sure if it was leftover shock from everything she had just laid on him, or the thought that one of his hated gods might have someone she loved just as much as he loved his own family.

“Come on,” she said, nodding forward and trying for a brisk tone. “We need to keep moving.”

Silently, he followed her as she started walking again, staying close beside her. They only got a few more steps before he spoke again, his voice low and surprisingly gentle.

“What happened to your sister?”

Lucy kept looking resolutely ahead. “Two years ago, followers of Rittenhouse tried to steal the Fates’ loom from us.” She hesitated, but if they were going to work together she had to be honest with him. “And they almost succeeded.”

His brow furrowed. “You must have defenses...”

“We do,” Lucy said, grimacing. “They got past them all. We still aren't sure how. It could have been a catastrophe.”

Guilt stabbed at her as soon as the horribly-chosen words were out of her mouth. It  _ could  _ have been a catastrophe? She’d lost her sister – wasn’t that terrible enough? Even if deep down she knew her personal tragedy was a drop in the ocean of what could have been if Rittenhouse had succeeded, she still couldn’t help but picture Amy glaring at her accusingly.

She shook her head, getting back on track. “With the loom in their hands, they could do anything. Change their destiny to whatever they wanted. Rip apart the world as we know it and set themselves up as rulers… maybe even make themselves gods.”

Flynn had gone completely silent, his face a mask. He would be able to imagine what a world under Rittenhouse would look like.

“My sister must have stumbled onto them.” Lucy was quiet now, trying to keep her voice level. “She – she stopped them. But when we found out what happened, when we went to check on her… She was gone.”

There was a long silence, broken by Flynn sighing. “I, uh, I'm sorry,” he said awkwardly, but she shook her head again.

“No, you don't understand. She's not dead. She just… vanished. I looked for her everywhere. Here, in the underworld… She’s just gone.” Tears pricked at her eyes.

“The Rittenhouse followers got out before we got there, so we have no idea what happened to her. Our main goal is to stop them from trying again, but I need to find whoever was there that night. If I can get them to tell me what happened, maybe there’s still a chance to find her.’ Rufus and Connor and Jiya were all trying as hard as they could, but they had other things to worry about and without information they were working blind.

“They're not known for their pleasant, cooperative attitudes,” Flynn pointed out. “How exactly do you plan on finding out what you need to know?”

Lucy pressed her lips together. “I'll figure that out when I find them.”

He gave her a look like he couldn't believe she was really making this up as she went along, but respected her nerve anyway. Lucy had to agree. She  _ hated  _ working like this, always struggling to catch up, Rittenhouse always two steps ahead. Which was where he came in.

Apparently, Flynn was surprisingly good at reading her thoughts. “So where do I fit in in this noble plan of yours? You said 'we,’ so I'm guessing you have at least a little backup. What use do you have for a feeble mortal like myself?”

“There's not a lot of us,” Lucy told him. “Most of the gods think Rittenhouse is just another crazy human cult, that they're not a serious threat to us and we should leave the mortals to deal with it themselves.”

“After what you've told me?” Flynn said disbelievingly. “They must have a special affinity for arrogant stupidity.”

“Well… Yeah,” she admitted.

Flynn made an odd noise that sounded like a cross between a snort and a cough, and when she looked up at him, there was a distinctly amused set to his mouth. “You still haven't explained why you need me.”

“You've been fighting Rittenhouse for longer than we have. You know more about them than anyone.”

“I thought you were all-seeing, all-knowing,” he said dryly.

“We're really not. But, well,” Lucy faltered, then sighed. “There's something… someone, shielding them from our sight. Someone powerful.”

“A god.” It wasn't a question. “Well, at least that explains why you're seeking outside help.”

Lucy still couldn't believe it. It had to be someone she knew, and yet she didn't think any of her fellow gods, no matter how arrogant or stupid, were capable of betrayal on such a grand scheme. And what could they possibly have to gain?

“We’re not used to working like this, using human methods. That’s why we need you.”

Flynn nodded.

“I saw you,” she said suddenly, out of some need to tell him the whole story now that she was this far. “When you tried to save your family. It was the same night that my sister…”

She trailed off. Flynn looked over at her, and this time on his face she saw a kind of understanding sympathy, at how much they had each lost, how they were both stumbling to find a way to make it right.

They walked in silence for a while, their footsteps the only sound in the unnatural quiet. Eventually Lucy decided they had put enough distance between themselves and the harpies. She twisted her hand, releasing the invisible force she'd been holding back.

Instantly, the world came to life around them. Raindrops splattered against the muddy ground, soaking through Lucy's hair and cloak, and the lightning bolt above blinked out in a heartbeat, a crash of thunder following in the next.

The wind was still whirling through the trees, but there was no longer any malicious intent in it. They were safe, at least for the moment. She heard a few courageous birds chirping to each other over the storm.

“So,” Flynn said at last, quietly. “We both lost everything to Rittenhouse, and at the same time, no less. Did your Fates plan that?”

“But we don't have to,” Lucy said. “We can save the people we love. We both can. If you help me.”

She halted in her tracks, waiting until he had stopped and turned to her before holding her hand out between them. “Will you?”

With barely a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and took her hand.

He said nothing, but his fingers gripped her hand hard, an intense light in his eyes that confirmed what Lucy already knew. For his family, he would do anything.


	4. Following the Trail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this! Work has been killing me lately, but I'm still writing, just a bit more slowly haha. Anyway, shout-out to allisonlehay on Twitter for the encouragement about this fic the other day, which helped me finally finish off this chapter!

“So, you don't have a winged horse?” There was a note of vague disappointment in Flynn's voice to go along with what seemed to be ever-present sarcasm.

They had been walking for hours, the trees never ending. Lucy always forgot how long it took to travel by mortal methods. Thankfully, the sky was starting to brighten a bit to the east, slowly fading into lighter grey with the faintest tint of rose. The sun would be up soon, and then at least they could see all the ground they weren't covering.

“No horse at all,” she told him ruefully. She had tried to steal one, but, well, that hadn't ended so well. Specifically, it had ended with her flat on her back on the ground as the horse took off merrily back to its owner. But Flynn didn't need to know about that.

“Devoting a lot of resources to stopping Rittenhouse, hmm?” Back to pure sarcasm, then.

Lucy refrained from letting out an exasperated sigh with true godly effort. “I told you, there's only a few of us. No one else wants to get involved. Which doesn't really bode well for an army of winged horses. Besides, what we have is concentrated on protecting the Loom from any more attacks.”

She thought Flynn made a sort of resigned grunt at that, like it wasn't the worst idea he had ever heard but he wasn't going to say so.

They trudged on in silence for a while. An orange-pink glow warmed the pale dawn light, and Lucy tilted her head back, sighing as the first rays of sunlight shot through the trees. This was always one of the most peaceful moments of the day, when everything was still half-asleep but bathed in the light of a new day.

If Flynn was taking the opportunity for a moment of peaceful contemplation, he certainly wasn't showing it. He stalked along next to her and she practically had to run to keep up with him and his long legs.

“You're in a hurry,” she remarked after a while, attempting to get a hint across. Not that she got tired from merely walking like this, but he'd almost been ripped apart earlier and she was still a little unsure about whether her attempts to heal him had been successful.

“Because we're already late. My meeting was supposed to be at dawn.”

“Who are you meeting?”

Flynn hesitated, then, with a half-shrug, apparently made his own decision to level with her. “His name is Anthony Bruhl. He's a craftsman, an inventor if you will. He sent me a message a week ago that he'd heard Rittenhouse was planning something major and they wanted his help.”

“I take it he didn't want to help them.”

“No. He asked to meet me here, probably because he found out I was the only person who'd managed to keep them a step behind me.”

Flynn glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “I don't suppose you could…?” He waved his hand in a theatrical if rather vague manner and then snapped his fingers.

“It’s not exactly that simple.” Lucy was about to get into precisely how much it took out of her to stop time for the entire world, keep everything perfectly synchronized, and how much of it she'd had to do just to catch up with Flynn to begin with, but then she stopped, looking beyond them as they crested a small hill. “And it looks like I won't have to anyway.”

There, finally, was a break in the trees. They both hurried forward until they reached the end of the forest and emerged into a wide green field, the sun already burning off the remnants of fog clinging to the ground.

In the middle of the field was a huge, crooked tree that looked like it had been struck by lightning more times than it ought to have been able to survive. Yet it was still standing, albeit stooped and split in multiple places.

It was there that Flynn aimed for. He dashed across the field and Lucy took off after him, skidding to a stop underneath the branches. A bit of mud kicked up from the soft ground – the harpies’ storm must have reached out farther than she thought.

He was looking around with a frustrated expression, circling the tree before staring across the field.

“He's late too?” Lucy suggested hopefully.

Flynn looked flatly at her sidelong. Then his eyes shifted to focus on something over her shoulder and he took off running again without a word.

“You know, it’d be really nice if you would stop doing that,” Lucy muttered before pursuing him.

She followed him back into the forest, between a cluster of trees. He was standing next to an old black horse, stroking its mane and murmuring to it in a soothing tone.

“Hey, there,” he said, patting it in such a gentle way that she felt her determination to be annoyed at him waver slightly. “What are you doing alone out here?”

All the horse did was nuzzle at Flynn like it expected a treat or something. Flynn glanced at Lucy. “She belongs to Anthony,” he explained. “He  _ was  _ here, at the very least.”

An unpleasant sensation crawled up Lucy's throat. “He’s not here now.”

 

A thorough search of the surrounding area revealed nothing except more woods and a clear bubbling stream with white flowers growing around it. Flynn had acquired a puzzled expression by the time they were through; Lucy thought he must have expected them to find Anthony's mutilated body or something equally as grim.

But then, she thought with a guilty pang, it wasn't as if he hadn't witnessed firsthand what Rittenhouse was capable of. She shuddered. Bad enough that Amy had disappeared, but to actually have to see her, dead…

“Lucy, over here,” Flynn called. Lucy had never been more grateful for an interruption in her life.

He was kneeling a few yards away from the crooked tree in the clearing, peering at the ground. Lucy joined him, and the creeping feeling got a bit higher. There was a brownish patch on some fallen leaves she had dismissed as dirt earlier, but now it was catching the light with a distinctly coppery tint.

Flynn pointed off a little further. “Tracks,” he said. “They took him and headed towards the coast.” Then, with enviable ease, he turned towards Anthony's horse, which had been contentedly munching on some grass next to the tree, and swung onto its back. He looked at her expectantly.

Lucy was  _ really  _ wishing she had a chariot right about now. “Uh…”

“As a feeble mortal, I don't plan on walking the whole way, but of course you're free to do so.” Flynn shrugged, not trying very hard to mask his smirk.

Could he stop with the feeble mortal thing for ten seconds? Lucy wondered irritably, already dreading the inevitable moment when she fell off the horse and landed in the mud.

It's for Amy, she reminded herself firmly. She'd been through far, far worse things. Gritting her teeth, she ignored the hand Flynn had extended and heaved herself up next to him.

Immediately, she began sliding over the other way, the ground tipping up to meet her at an alarming rate. She let out an involuntary yelp and grabbed onto the nearest solid object – Flynn.

She clutched him awkwardly for a moment, one hand on his chest and the other around his waist, before her balance returned and she was able to right herself, clearing her throat and letting go of him. She'd been expecting at least one snide remark since he seemed so fond of them, but he had gone as still as a statue the instant she had touched him, and it took him even longer to recover than she had.

Of course, there was no way she was going to be able to stay on without some kind of anchor, so, slowly and cautiously, she slid an arm around him again, keeping it loose. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“It's fine.” He sounded rather strangled.

At a slight nudge from him, they began trotting forward at a decent pace. Lucy felt herself slipping again and tightened her arm around Flynn, but this time he seemed prepared and only tensed a little.

The trail led straight and unwavering towards the coast. Lucy had to wonder what would happen when they reached the end. If Anthony's kidnappers were heading for a ship, there was no way to track them over the ocean. And from the looks of that dried blood, they had at least several hours headstart, if not a full day.

Lucy flexed her free hand. She was already wrung out, but in an hour or two she would be able to stop time again, at least for a short while. That might help. But she wasn't sure if it would be enough.

For now though, the only thing she could do was try not to fall off this horse, hope for the best, and settle in for a long ride.

 

An hour later, Lucy had to begrudgingly admit that it wasn't as bad as she had expected. Flynn had so far spared her from any more apparent demonstrations of wit. She was starting to get used to the motion of riding, and was even able to relax the death grip she'd had before on Flynn's waist. (Perhaps wisely, he refrained from commenting on this.)

She was just about to attempt to slow time when he brought them up sharply and Lucy pitched forward, nearly smacking her head on Flynn's back. He was swearing under his breath, scanning the ground with a tight face.

“What is it?” Lucy asked, forgoing the multitude of comments she could have made.

Flynn jerked his head towards the ground. “They split up.”

Lucy leaned around him, peering at the ground. One path continued forward, south and towards the coast, while the other split off to the northeast. Almost back the way they had come, albeit in a looping fashion.

Lucy and Flynn stared mutely for a while, neither one wanting to suggest splitting up. From what she'd seen in his recent past, subtlety wasn't really his motto; Lucy didn't trust him not to come up with some dramatic overblown scheme and get himself killed or captured. As for Flynn, she wasn’t sure if he trusted her at all.

Another idea occurred to her. She slid off the horse's back (wondering idly if she had a name) and walked forward a little, ignoring Flynn's “Lucy?” and closing her eyes.

Flynn joined her on the ground a moment later. “What are you doing?”

“I can look into the past. I might be able to see Anthony's, unless they've shielded him already…”

Flynn was looking at her with a crease in his forehead and a strange, hopeful expression. Lucy wasn't quite sure what that was about, but she'd have time to ask him later. For now, she concentrated.

Overhead, the sun halted its movement across the sky before sliding smoothly back down in the opposite direction. Stars twinkled into view one-by-one as the light faded, water forming into drops and ascending into the clouds. Flynn melted away from her view.

Then she heard voices.

“I'm telling you, I can't do it,” an older man insisted, coming into view from behind her. He was clearly afraid, but mustering up an impressive amount of determination regardless. Anthony. “No one could. You don't know what you're asking.”

Lucy couldn't see who he was speaking to. She tried to focus, but the harder she looked at where his companions should have been, the foggier and more scrambled everything got.

Anthony stopped at the spot where the trail had split, his face going slack. “Don’t touch them,” he said, his voice hoarse, but it was a helpless protest and whatever the answer was, it only made him go even paler.

“I'll try,” he whispered at last, before someone laughed, the sound distorted like it was coming from underwater, and tugged him forward…

“South,” Lucy said, returning to the present with a snap. ”He went south.” Flynn was still giving her an odd look, but that shook him out of it and he only nodded before climbing back onto the horse. Much less gracefully, Lucy followed him, but at least she didn't fall off this time. Progress!

“Rittenhouse is forcing him to work for them. I don't know what he's doing though,” she informed Flynn, before letting out a soft but sharp whistle. A moment later, a small owl flapped down from the trees and landed on her outstretched arm.

To his credit, Flynn took this inexplicable interruption by a nocturnal bird in the middle of the day quite well, which is to say he raised an eyebrow and clearly bit back an acerbic remark.

“Take a message to Denise,” Lucy told it softly. “Tell her to find Anthony Bruhl’s family and get them somewhere safe. If we hurry, we might be able to get to them before Rittenhouse.”

With a nod and a low call, the owl took off and disappeared into the leaves.

Flynn had twisted to look at her again, this time with open surprise.

“What?” she asked finally, and not as politely as she could have.

“Nothing,” Flynn muttered, turning around again and concentrating a little too hard on the ground. He cleared his throat. “It's just, that was… good.”

“Oh.” Lucy relaxed, even if the knowledge that he'd really thought she didn't give a damn about innocent people stung a little.

His family had been innocent too, and she knew he blamed her and her fellow gods for not stopping Rittenhouse from killing them. But none of them had even registered Rittenhouse as a threat then; how could she have known they needed to be stopped?

Deeper down, a guilty part of her knew that even if she had known, she wouldn't have done anything. As much as she might have wanted to, that was their fate; it was her sworn duty to preserve it. She couldn't just go around changing things whenever she felt bad for someone. The consequences could be disastrous: for all she knew, she might accidentally create a world even worse than the one Rittenhouse was aiming for. (Then again, maybe nothing would happen. Maybe the only consequence would be that one family would be happier. But it wasn't up to Lucy to play with the world like that. She protected fate – she didn’t  _ make  _ it.)

She couldn't blame Flynn for feeling the way he did about her. But she also couldn't expect him to understand the sheer scale of the choices she had to make.

Thankfully, Flynn's thoughts seemed to be taking another path. “You said you can see the past,” he said after a while, with deliberate casualness. “Can you see the future too?”

“I used to be able to,” she said. She had preferred the past though. It felt clearer somehow, like she was watching a story. Or perhaps it had been her own small way of rebelling against her mother, who had never stopped talking about the future: Lucy's future, specifically. She had a lot of very strong opinions about Lucy's future, none of which she ever seemed terribly concerned about running past Lucy herself.

“But ever since that night when Amy… When Rittenhouse tried to steal the Loom, it's all just… out of focus. In flux.”

Flynn exhaled, his head sinking forward.

“I can't tell you what happens to them,” she said quietly. “I'm sorry. But I told you I'd save them and I'm not going to go back on that. I know you don't trust me and I can't blame you, but… just believe me on this one thing, please.”

“That one thing is everything that matters, Lucy.” His voice was low and unsteady.

“I know.”

What wouldn't she do just to see Amy again? Hug her, tease her, laugh with her about dumb sibling in-jokes?

“What will you do?” she asked suddenly. “When you get them back?”

Flynn was quiet for a moment. “Let my little girl jump into my arms. Hug my wife.”

Lucy smiled slightly.

“Then say goodbye and walk away forever.”

Surprise rippled through her. “What? You would just... just leave them, after everything that you’ve been through?”

“Fighting Rittenhouse, I've done terrible things,” he continued, in only a rough whisper. “You know, don’t you?”

“Yes.” She wouldn’t lie about looking into his past, too. And what he had said was true. He  _ had  _ done horrible things. He’d killed people, and hurt more, and not all of them had been guilty of any crime apart from getting in his way. But she’d looked further back than that. She’d seen the person he used to be: brave, kind,  _ good.  _ Could she really believe he could never go back?

“What kind of husband, what kind of father, could I be after that?” His voice was thick.

“So you're just going to leave, and never see them again?” Lucy’s throat felt tight. “What if they didn’t want you to go? They don't get a say in the matter?”

“I couldn't lie to them about what I am. And if I told them the truth, is that the kind of burden you would want to bear, to know that someone had – had done these things, all because of you?” Flynn shook his head. “Would you do that to your sister?”

That brought her up short, and the conversation came to a not entirely unwelcome end.

Lucy didn't say anything for a long while after that, occupied with uneasy thoughts about what  _ she  _ had done in her fight against Rittenhouse, and what she hadn't done, and whether she could bear to see it all reflected back at her in Amy's eyes.

 

They rode for a few more hours, through rolling fields, small farms dotting the landscape, and more scattered forests. Thankfully, they didn’t meet anyone along the trail they were following. The silence between her and Flynn was beginning to grow stifling, but any delay would have been worse. Lucy didn't know what Anthony was supposed to be working on, but it couldn't possibly have been good.

Then the land got hillier and rockier as they approached the sea at last. Lucy could smell it in the air, even before they reached the coastline.

They lost the trail near the edge of a bluff overlooking the ocean. Flynn had dismounted and stood on the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing against the rocks beneath, the roar audible from a long ways off.

“Look,” he said, pointing down.

Lucy followed the line of his finger and spotted a small dark cave opening just above the tide line, little more than a jagged hole in the side of the rock face.

Without waiting, she closed her eyes and focused on Anthony again. In a series of dim, shaky glimpses, she saw him clinging to the side of the cliff, stepping along behind the hazy figures from before. He was beginning to be a little hazy himself; whoever was shielding them had apparently remembered to start paying attention to him as well.

“There's a path,” she said to Flynn, opening her eyes. “Come on, I'll show you where it is.”

It was hardly an easy climb, but the path had been cut cleverly into the cliffside, completely disguised, and it was at least wider than Lucy had expected from her viewpoint on the cliffs above. She went first, Flynn following on her heels, until they stood in the dark cave mouth and Lucy took a deep breath in. There was a nasty stench wafting out of the opening, which she hoped fervently was simply an old, damp cave that hadn’t had fresh air inside since the dawn of time.

“Wait,” she warned Flynn, who had just started to take a step forward. There was something here she couldn't put her finger on…

Cautiously, Lucy walked forward. One step, another step, another –

Her breath stilled suddenly in her chest, but everything around her seemed to have sped up to a breakneck rate, and her eyes couldn’t follow anything fast enough. It was impossible to focus: like a multitude of people were shouting at her, each at a different volume and speed, and none of the words they said made any sense.

Then it was over as quickly as it had begun. She stumbled forward and turned to look at Flynn, who had stepped forward involuntarily and was staring at her with clear shock and a hint of concern.

“What happened?” she asked, although she thought she had a fair idea already.

“You stopped. Like in the forest,” he said. Lucy was grateful to him for one thing at least, for not reminding her that she had been the one doing the stopping back there, not the other way around.

Lucy frowned at the place she had just been. If she concentrated hard she could see it now, a disruption in time, the edges shimmering faint and nebulous in the air. Turning, she saw more scattered all throughout the mouth of the cave, some only small pockets and others larger than her. They continued on past her line of sight, deeper into the cavern.

“This must be some kind of side effect of whatever Anthony is doing,” she said. “I should be able to see a way through for us, if you follow me.”

“Lead the way,” Flynn said, a wry twist of his lips the only indication that he knew he didn't have much else in the way of options.

Lucy turned once more, facing into the blackness of the cave, and together they began making their cautious way inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (For some reason, whenever I write this fic I can't help but picture Flynn in sort of a slightly more fantasy-ish version of his Salem outfit. Totally historically inaccurate? Absolutely. Am I gonna hand wave this particular thing and say "well, there's magic and gods in this universe" because I heartily enjoy this mental image? ...Also yes. Oops.)
> 
> I made the mistake of writing ahead before finishing this chapter, so part of the next chapter is already done. So there shouldn't be as long a wait!


	5. A Monster in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to update quite so soon haha, but I got really really inspired last night and, well, this happened. Enjoy!

Flynn was sure it was his imagination, but the cavern seemed unnaturally dark once they had left the opening behind, the last glimpse of sunlight disappearing suddenly around a corner and plunging them into total night. Even the sound of the waves was muted.

It reminded him of the pathway he has taken into the underworld. Everything had seemed distant there too, all life and color draining away the deeper he got. He shuddered. Lorena and Iris were down there right now, and if he could spare them from it for an instant, he would.

“When we're done here, we're going to get my family,” he murmured to Lucy as she led them slowly through the winding tunnel. She almost seemed to be giving off a faint golden glow, visible only because of the pitch-black environment.

Not for the first time, he wondered uneasily if it has been wise to fall in with a goddess. She was clearly powerful beyond reckoning, and there was so much he didn't know about her. But… There had been sincerity in her voice and expression when she'd spoken about her sister. He didn't think she was lying about what she'd told him.

Now, whether or not she'd throw him and his family to the wolves if she had to, to follow her  _ infinitely _ more important divine agenda, that was something Flynn was less sure about. She had displayed unexpected flashes of compassion earlier, but he didn't know how to stack it up against his long list of grievances against her and her fellow gods.

Either way, Flynn wasn't going to take any chances. He would get her to save his family no matter what, and then she could do whatever she liked with him afterwards, even if it was toss him to Rittenhouse like a piece of bait.

“Not exactly a great time to talk about this, but ok,” Lucy hissed back. “I promised you, we’ll get them back. If we don’t have to stop whatever Rittenhouse is planning first, we’ll do it after this. If not, I’m sorry, but we’ll have to wait.”

“No,” he said firmly. “After this, no excuses. You can stop time, you can spare a little of it to get my wife and daughter out of that place.”

“I told you, I can't just do it on a whim – ” Lucy stopped short and threw an arm out, barring him from going any further. “There's something in front of us.”

“One of your disruptions in time?” Flynn squinted at the darkness over her shoulder, but he couldn't see a thing before them, just the light sheen of gold still emanating from Lucy.

“Yes. We'll have to go around it.” Carefully, she picked her way around an invisible sphere, Flynn following in her footsteps, before relaxing again. Well, as relaxed as it was possible to be in this place.

“What exactly are those things, anyway?” he asked, glancing uncomfortably behind them.

“They're, they’re like currents in deep water,” Lucy said, struggling to find the right words. “Time flows differently in them than it does outside, in the rest of the world, and if you get sucked in... I don't think Anthony is responsible for these after all. Some of them seem to have been here for weeks or even months. And whoever or whatever did this must be immensely powerful...”

She trailed off, but the obvious point was made: there was no way Anthony should have been able to create anything that could affect her by himself. Wonderful. More evidence that they were hopelessly outmanned.

Flynn's morbid curiosity got the best of him. “If they stopped you... What would happen to me, if I walked into one?”

Lucy gave him a “you really don't want to know” look. Flynn nodded. “Ah. Good to know.”

Lucy sighed, halted, and turned to him. “Give me your hand.”

Flynn did no such thing. “Why?”

“I can try to protect you. Give me your hand.” Lucy gestured, raising her eyebrows.

Reluctantly, Flynn extended his hand, his eyes widening when Lucy took it and some of the golden light began to siphon off onto him.

He jerked back. “What are you doing?”

Lucy gave him an annoyed look and snatched his hand again. “I'm giving you some of my power. Or at least, shielding you with it. This should keep the worst of the effects at bay if you do stumble into one of these… currents. Although I still can't say for sure if you would survive, so please don’t go diving headfirst into one.”

As she spoke, gold trailed up his fingers and melted onto his arms and chest before fading into an even fainter version of the glow surrounding Lucy. Which was diminished slightly, he thought, and he wondered again that she would willingly weaken herself to protect him.

“I didn't know you could do that,” Flynn said at last, rather lamely. “Thank you” had been on his lips, but he couldn't quite get the words out. She was only doing it because she needed him alive, to help her save her sister. Not exactly an act of charitable kindness. (But then, wasn't he only helping her to save his family? Flynn pushed that thought aside.)

“It’s, um – not common,” Lucy said, and hurriedly dropped his hand. If Flynn could see a damn thing in this cave, he might have almost thought she had turned red. Clearly there was something he was missing here. But whatever it was, Lucy didn't seem inclined to share it with him, and turned away to keep going a little faster than strictly necessary.

As they progressed farther in, Flynn became gradually aware of a dim light growing in the distance, and a new sound: water splashing. It was already falling from the roof of the cavern onto their heads, plinking on the rock beneath their feet, but there must have been a body of water in front of them for it to meet. Perhaps some of the sea had made its way in here.

The light was redder than what surrounded Lucy (and him, Flynn realized) and it didn't take long to identify it as torchlight. The closer they got, the more pockets of space Lucy had to avoid.

Flynn drew his sword, mostly because it made him feel better to have a weapon in his hand than out of any belief it would do him much good. At first Rittenhouse had been all-too-human – a twisted form of humanity, yes, but able to be fought. Now there were gods involved, and rips in the very fabric of the world, and monsters at his heels. He'd stumbled into a clash of powers so beyond him it was almost laughable, but his determination hadn't wavered in the slightest.

It was possible – no, it was very likely that he wouldn't survive this, but whatever happened, he wouldn't stop fighting until his very last breath.

They rounded another corner and came upon the source of both light and sound: a wide stone chamber roughly the shape of an oval, with a deep pool in the near corner, dark water glistening in the light of the torches ringing the room.

Up against the opposite wall, farthest from Lucy and Flynn, there was a scattered pile of smashed pieces of wood and metal, all lying jumbled together on the ground. There was no sign of anyone else.

At least, anyone else alive. Standing slightly in front of him, Lucy drew in her breath and hurried forward, Flynn following in her wake.

They had found Anthony, it seemed, but not soon enough. Lucy bent over his body, feeling for a heartbeat, but shook her head.

“Why?” Flynn mused, possibly not the most respectful amount of time later. “Why go to all this trouble to kidnap him, only to immediately kill him?”

“I'm guessing this is why,” Lucy said, waving her hand at the wreckage on the ground. “This might have been what they wanted him to work on. And he destroyed it instead…”

Flynn knelt down, picking at the carved wood and twisted metal, lying in a haphazard, indecipherable heap on the ground. “Whatever this is,” he said, then stood, exhaling hard. “So we've come all this way for nothing. They're gone, Anthony's dead, and we have no idea what they were planning in the first place.”

Lucy kept looking at Anthony's blank expression. “Maybe not for nothing,” she said slowly.

Flynn frowned, but before he could answer, there was a sudden shift in the air. Not that it had smelled wonderful before, but there was a noxious tang to it now that made him gag. Then he abruptly realized that the sound of water dripping onto water had ceased.

He turned to the pool, Lucy standing up and joining him, and frozen together they watched a huge dark shape rise from the water, eerily silent. It was long and serpentine, body covered in glimmering scales. Nine heads breached the surface, one after the other. All were identical except for the middle head, which gave off a faint unearthly light, not unlike Lucy's, but this had a sickly greenish cast.

“What,” Flynn said after a moment, finding his voice, “is that?”

“The Hydra. Rittenhouse must have brought it here to guard this place,” Lucy said, sounding rather far away.

“There’s not much left to guard.” Flynn tightened his grip on his sword, stepping closer to Lucy.

She seemed to come back to the present, and gave him a look. “Well, it doesn't know that.”

It slithered out of the pool completely, blocking the entrance and eyeing them with all nine heads, before letting out a low, measured hiss.

“Lucy, where do I need to stay away from in this room?” Flynn asked. “Apart from the giant monster.”

“A small one near the pool, on your right,” Lucy said, catching on immediately. “Middle of the room, almost exactly. And that entire side of the wall.” She pointed to their right.

“So, half the room,” he muttered. “You don't have any more useful powers you haven't gotten around to telling me about yet, do you?”

Lucy did crack a faint smile at that. “Nope, sorry. But I can do this.” She snapped her fingers.

The Hydra hissed again in a self-satisfied sort of way, and lashed a long tail against the pool, kicking up a spray of water.

“Oh, that's great,” Flynn bit out. “You'll have a good rhythm going pretty soon.”

“That's not – ” Lucy glared at him and snapped her fingers again.

“It's not working,” Flynn said, backing up as the Hydra approached, glancing over to make sure Lucy was still at his side.

“Thanks, I noticed!” Lucy let out a noise of frustration as she tried again. “It must be the disruptions – or – ”

Whatever the second option was, Flynn never got the opportunity to hear it. Lucy stopped mid-sentence as the Hydra flung itself at them. Flynn was aware of several heads lunging at him with impossible speed before Lucy threw her whole weight against him and tackled him to the ground just as multiple pairs of jaws snapped on the air where he'd just been.

Flynn looked down at her hands splayed on his chest, then up at her, her eyes wide and worried, and his mouth felt rather dry. Then Lucy glanced over and rolled quickly off him as the Hydra made another grab for her.

Flynn bolted to his feet, grabbing her arm and hauling her up, and ran with her to dodge the next attack. They whirled together and Flynn noticed a long silver sword had appeared in her hand, although it was shaking very slightly.

“I'll keep it busy,” he told her. “You go for the head on the far right.”

Lucy nodded. Flynn took in a deep breath, then headed out to meet it again. He veered left, making it crane its necks to keep him in view, and sprinted along the side of the wall.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucy approaching it. There was a flash as her blade sliced cleanly through its neck. Flynn's eyebrows shot up, and he experienced a fleeting wish that he could trade swords with her.

The Hydra stumbled and stopped its pursuit of him, turning to Lucy. The head crashed to the ground and blood gushed out of the wound, dark and viscous, spilling onto her.

Up until that point, Flynn had been truly unsure about whether or not it was even possible to harm her, at least seriously. But any doubts he might have had were erased when Lucy screamed. A chill ran up his spine, and he started instinctively back towards her, although there couldn’t possibly be anything he could do for her.

She clawed frantically at the blood, brushing most of it off to the ground. He caught a glimpse of her cheek and hand, raw and red like she’d been burned.

Lucy met his eyes, nodding shakily as if to assure him she was still standing, but then they both recoiled in horror. Out of the bloody ruin of the severed neck shot two more heads, forming as they went until they joined the other eight, hissing and lunging at Lucy.

She dodged out of the way and barrelled towards Flynn. The swollen right side of her face had nearly closed her eye, and Flynn's stomach dropped when he saw the Hydra pivot, the tail swinging towards her in a blind spot. Without stopping to think, he ran towards her, intending to get them both down, but he was too slow – he managed to shove Lucy out of the way but couldn't join her before the massive tail collided with him, sending him flying across the room straight towards the other side of the wall.

Right into the space Lucy had told him to avoid.

He barely registered her calling out his name before everything froze. Lucy knelt on the ground, her hand outstretched towards him, the Hydra looming over her, both unmoving. There was an erratic pounding in Flynn's chest: his heart didn't seem to know how fast it needed to work. He couldn't breathe.

Then the world split apart at the seams.

Light tore through the cracks, sending sharp stabs of pain through his head. He was spinning, or falling, or suspended perfectly still, or all three at once, and everything was in chaotic disorder. He tried to shut his eyes but the light persisted, piercing him until it felt as if he was being torn apart and the pieces scattered to the four winds.

Suddenly, mercifully, it was gone and Flynn could breathe again. He opened his eyes – 

And had only the barest moment to glimpse a fierce grey sky and a sheet of rain before plunging into deep, cold water.

Flynn was completely unprepared; what little breath there was in his lungs rushed out at the impact. His head was at least clear enough to keep his mouth shut and try to struggle back to the surface, salt water burning his eyes.

He broke the surface, hacking and spluttering, and managed to gasp a quick breath before being dragged back under again. Through the murky water, Flynn almost imagined he saw a swirling current, a nearly perfect spiral sucking in everything around it.

Thankfully he was far enough away that it had no hold on him yet, but instead of turning tail like any sensible person would have once he'd managed to get his head above water again, Flynn, much to his own confusion and frustration, treaded water and scanned his surroundings. It was like he was in a dream, aware of what he was doing but helpless to do anything but play out the script his mind had written for him.

He kept looking frantically over the roiling waves, searching for something. He couldn’t have said what, but it was something he was desperate not to lose.

Some distance off he saw the wreckage of a ship torn asunder, half of it clinging to the jagged rock it must have run onto and the other half scattered on the water’s surface. There was something thrashing in its ruins, huge and monstrous. Flynn’s heart stuttered in his chest.  _ That  _ was where whatever he was looking for was. He wasn't sure how he knew it, but he did, and without another moment lost he struck out towards the wreck.

It was slow going, fighting the sea at every stroke, but he pulled free at last and crawled up onto another rock near the wreck. Whatever had been here had dived underneath the surface, which should have been a relief but filled him with numbing terror instead.

“Lucy!” he shouted, hearing his own voice like he was standing at a great distance. “Lucy!”

It hit him like a thunderclap; all of a sudden everything seemed so obvious. Of  _ course  _ he was looking for Lucy. He had to find her. They were partners. They were –

He thought he spied a dark head breaking the surface, just for a second, and with another hoarse cry of her name, he dived in after her. His eyes forced themselves shut, his movements slowed. Flynn struggled, trying to get to her, but the water had disappeared and he was falling again, through an all-encompassing darkness this time.

“Flynn!” Lucy called. His eyes snapped open and for a brief second he was back in the cavern and she was staring at him, one hand raised and trembling with effort. She faltered for a moment and disappeared.

From darkness he was plunged suddenly into a dizzying vortex of color and sound, his head close to bursting as hundreds of different pictures swirled around him and into each other, a clamoring of voices in his ears.

_ – “Quite the team,” he said to her, breathing hard, looking ruefully at his sword which would now have to be cleaned before he could get some damned  _ sleep  _ – _

_ – golden-white spires rising above him, a tower filled with scrolls and books, somber faces of people he didn't know gathered around him staring at Lucy, pale and unmoving in his arms – _

_ – he knelt down, picking at the carved wood and twisted metal, lying in a haphazard, indecipherable heap on the ground – _

_ – a red-haired woman, eyes glittering and mouth curved into a cruel, triumphant smile, then a flash of silver – _

_ – “I’ll always protect you,” he told Iris, kissing her head as Lorena looked at them with warm amusement – _

_ – he held up a white flower to Lucy and said something that made her laugh, taking it from him with sparkling eyes, her cheeks pink and Flynn's heart fluttering foolishly – _

_ – “I'm sorry!” Her voice broke on a sob – _

_ – a lichen-covered stone staircase leading deep underground, flickering torchlight gleaming off its surface, a distant roar sounding from somewhere within – _

_ – Lucy standing in a bone-white garden, her hands red and dripping, eyes blacker than coal and a fiery gold corona around her – _

_ –  for once they had a moment of peace, Lucy curled into his chest and nuzzling at him in her sleep, early dawn light chasing away the shadows on her face – _

Desperate for something solid to hold onto in this maelstrom, Flynn tried to cling to that vision before it could pass him by like the others. He saw Lucy's eyes open, and he saw her smile and begin to lean up, and then it all slipped away from him anyway, the light pressure of her lips against his nothing more than a phantom of his imagination.

Her hand was still firm in his, though. Still reeling from that ghost of a kiss, Flynn didn't even notice until she had called his name again, and his eyes opened to the cavern once more.

Lucy had reached into the shimmering bubble against the wall where he was suspended (which, for some reason he didn't want to fathom, he could see now), and was tugging on his hand. The last few minutes had been such a whirlwind that Flynn thought he could be excused for the look of blank confusion he gave her.

“Lucy?” he managed, the name feeling strange on his tongue, like he had forgotten how he usually addressed her.

She gritted her teeth and nodded. “Hold on.”

Still feeling oddly disconnected from his own body, Flynn gripped Lucy's hand as she pulled again, reaching out and catching her arm with his other hand. With one last effort, she yanked him free and they tumbled to the ground together.

“How did you – ” he began, but she was already standing. Flynn hadn't even noticed that the Hydra had been utterly still and quiet, frozen in time, until it wasn't. It charged at them again with thirteen heads this time. Lucy must have cut a few more off while he was incapacitated.

He didn't even know where his sword was at this point. Lucy had lost hers too, and she was unsteady on her feet, looking exhausted and pained. As the Hydra came at them, they met each other's eyes with a kind of weary understanding, and at the last possible second they dived out of the way and let it careen right into the place Lucy had just pulled him from.

Everything went quiet abruptly, even as Flynn and Lucy scrambled out of the way of the still-moving tail lashing this way and that. Flynn turned, and took an involuntary step back.

In the few seconds they had been looking away, the Hydra had aged a thousand years, or maybe even more than that: every head but one had crumbled into dirty greyish dust, the necks sealed by the opalescent field it was trapped in. The last head still shone with its pale green light, its jaws open and frozen in a ferocious snarl. As they watched, the section of its body not trapped inside sagged and went still.

Flynn took another step back, feeling ill. That was what could have happened to him, if not for Lucy.

_ Lucy.  _ He turned to face her, breathing heavily at his side.

Now that the danger was past, she looked in even rougher shape than she had before, haggard and drawn and almost as if she'd aged a thousand years herself. Her skin was ashen and beaded with sweat.

After a silence that was just a little too long, Flynn spoke. “I take it you discovered why you couldn’t…?”

“Not exactly,” Lucy said with a tired smile. “I just went with the brute force method.”

Flynn was pretty sure that meant she'd thrown more power than she really had at overcoming whatever barriers were preventing her from affecting the Hydra. And rescuing him.

Lucy swayed where she stood, and on instinct Flynn reached out to catch her shoulders, holding her up and steadying her. She looked up at him then, her eyes surprised and grateful and warm, and Flynn opened his mouth to thank her but no sound came out. He swallowed.

Whatever it was he'd seen just now, it couldn't be real, he told himself. It was just memories, mixed together with some sort of feverish dreams brought on by whatever the hell he'd just been through. That was all. All it could be, and all he wanted it to be. He released Lucy like he was dropping something painfully hot and stepped back.

“You…” His voice came out scratchy and thick, and he cleared his throat. “You had an idea, before…” He waved a hand at what was left of the Hydra.

Lucy nodded, drawing in deep breaths. She was beginning to look a little better, which Flynn firmly quashed his relief at.

“We need to know what Rittenhouse was doing here. And for that, we need to talk to Anthony.”

“Yes, but in case you hadn't noticed, he's just been killed,” Flynn said bluntly, and then his mind caught up with him and he looked at Lucy with sudden sharp hope.

“You’re getting your wish, Flynn.” Lucy pushed herself forward with visible effort and they started to make their way back through the cavern. “It's time we paid a visit to the land of the dead.”


End file.
